Crescent Moons
by AndThatWasEnough
Summary: Or, how Two-Bit Mathews got it in his head that seeing his daughter kissing his buddy's son in the Sunday school classroom on Easter was the worst possible thing that could happen. Also, said daughter may or may not have an obsession with whether or not she's named after the Virgin Mary. In short, the Easter of 1989 was one of the family's weirder ones. {One-shot}


**Author's Note: I don't think I'll ever be done exploring Two-Bit Mathews (or any of these guys, really). So here's a one-shot about him! It's probably a bit self-indulgent – it features his family heavily, especially his daughter Mary, who some of you may know. It bops between perspectives. A bit of an experiment. And a bit long. Hope it's still enjoyable, though!**

 **Happy reading :)**

XXXXX

 _Mary's father once marveled at the fact that something good could ever come of him, and marveled even more at the fact that the good that came of him came in the form of his oldest daughter._

 _She used to ask him, when she was young, very young, if she was named for the Mother of God, for the Virgin Mary. Funny, because they hardly ever went to church. And her father would shake his head and tell her no, not named for the Madonna. The fact seemed to disappoint Mary a bit, but it was the truth. Her mother had simply liked the name._

 _"_ _Grandma says it's a good Catholic name," Mary told him, and he can practically hear those words coming from his mother's mouth._

 _"_ _It is," Mary's father allowed. "But you're still not named after her."_

XXXXX

 _1989_

I look ridiculous.

"I look ridiculous."

My mother frowns and crosses the room to come stand right behind me. She tugged on the dress, evening it and smoothing it out. It was a pastel yellow dress with little white daisies on it. Mom was forcing me to wear it, along with pantyhose and white flats – she refused to let me wear heels. Which is stupid. Because it just is.

I _hate_ going to church.

"You do not look ridiculous. You look _lovely_. You look so _sweet_ in yellow."

" _Mom_ ," I whined, "I'm fourteen! I don't look ' _sweet'_."

"Yes, you do!"

It totally wasn't my style. It was my _mother's_ , probably from when she was sixteen. It had a peter pan collar and white cuffs, and it itched a little. Why was it a requirement to wear pastels for Easter? Was it some sort of unwritten rule? Just gimme a straw hat and the Little Miss Sunday School look will be complete. Which is just great, ya know? Because Lee Curtis is gonna be there, and he's in high school now, and what would he think of me if he saw me dressed like this? He's gonna think I look like a baby. Which I definitely do. The dress I had picked out was a little shorter, and hot pink. Mom had seen it and instantly started shaking her head, said it wasn't decent enough for an Easter service, or for church _period_. And Dad backed her up. Double-teamed. I didn't stand a chance.

"You look so nice in this color," Mom prattled on. "Lisa, sweetheart, don't you think Mary looks nice in this color?"

Lisa appeared beside us in the mirror. She was eight years old and probably already prettier than I was. She looks like our Aunt Sadie, who instead of having rusty hair like Dad has strawberry blonde hair. Lisa is apparently her doppelganger or something. "I like it," she proclaimed, nodding her head once. I rolled my eyes. Of course she did. Lisa was practically a baby, so of fucking _course she did._

"See? There," Mom said, like it was a done deal.

"From her mouth to God's ears," I mumbled, and Mom just sighed and patted my head.

"What're we going to do with you, Mary?" She asked, leaning her chin on my head and smiling at me in the mirror. I shrugged a little.

"Can't say," I sighed, and raised an eyebrow, smirking. Mom just shook her head. "Where's Dad?"

"Yeah, where's Daddy?" Lisa asked, practically shouting in my ear. I scowled at her, and she stuck out her tongue.

Mom suddenly looked unamused. It was getting late, and we had to be up early tomorrow for church. Dad had a habit of doing this whenever we came down to Tulsa. He and his buddies would stay out late getting up to God knows what. I think it really pissed my mother off, but she simply said, "Out."

 _(Meanwhile:_

"Sodapop Curtis, you dirty, lyin', motherfuck of a cheat!"

Sodapop cackled as Steve worked to wrestle the ace away from him. This may have flown during any other game of poker, but this was Oklahoma Gin. A cutthroat game at that, too. The rest of us kept our distance, close enough to watch the show but not close enough so that if they fell off the dock they'd take any of the rest of us with 'em. I sat back in my folding chair and lit up a cigarette. It and the moon and the lantern we had sitting in the middle was the only light we had. Rest it up on a crate, which served as the card table. Ponyboy looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"See, these are the moments we miss, Two-Bit, not livin' down here anymore."

"You two are lucky, then," Darry grumbled, paying more attention to his cards than the spectacle in front of us. I cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Aha! Got it!" Steve said triumphantly, holding up the card. Soda was still lying on the dock, laughing his ass off, as Steve sat back in his chair. "We should toss you in the river on principle for this bullshit."

"Aw, shuddup, you old fuck," Sodapop laughed, calmed down some now and back in his chair, wiping at his eyes. "Oh, _boy_. I think we should call it quits."

"That's just cuz yer _losin'_ ," I drawled. "I got a damn good hand here."

"Bullshit," Darry said.

"You don't know," I shot back.

Ponyboy leaned over. "Eh, it ain't good _or_ bad," he shrugged. I shoved him.

"Fuck you," I grumbled. "Why you gotta ruin everythin', Ponyboy Curtis?"

"I'm done, too," Darry said, tossing in his hand. His brothers followed suit. I looked over at Steve, who just shrugged. Guess we were done.

"I s'pose a couple games is enough, anyways," I said, tossing in my hand. "And Soda owes me three-hundred dollars."

"Shee- _it_."

Darry turned off the lamp. I looked up at the moon. Mary – the oldest of my three dumbass children – had a bit of an obsession with moons like these. Tonight, the crescent moon hung in the sky, reflecting in the murky river and putting on a real show. She'd been here earlier with everyone else, but the girls had bailed and taken the kids with them a few hours ago now. I always lose track of time. My wife hates that.

"Darry, you know I'm scared of the dark," Soda whispered. Everything was too still to want to be loud.

"Fuck you," Darry whispered back, and we laughed quietly. Cuz a moon like that can stun ya into silence.)

"Oh." I smirked. "' _Out_.'"

Mom looked at her wrist and then put her hand to her face. She wasn't wearing a watch. "Oh, would you look at what time it is! You girls need to get to bed. Mary, you can take that off now, help your sister get ready for bed."

"I don't need help!"

She ignored Lisa. "I need to go check on your brother. He's been _too_ quiet. Alright, girls, goodnight." She pressed a kiss to both our foreheads and waltzed out of the room.

I probably shouldn't have teased her like that, I know Dad's not doing anything stupid; nothing that would hurt anybody (except for himself, maybe). It's just too easy to push Mom's buttons. I probably shouldn't be as good at it as I am. I thought about all that as Lisa and I sat on the bed, her sitting between my legs as I brushed out her hair. She didn't complain too much – she had as thick a skull as the rest of us. And unlike with my hair, the brush moved through hers with ease, like running your fingers through water. Lisa is everything I am not, and I love and hate her for it.

"Alright, you're done," I said, setting the brush on the bedside table. Lisa turned around and smiled at me. A way of saying thank you.

"Do we really have to go to bed?" She asked. "It's only nine-thirty."

I raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that when you usually go to bed?"

She scowled. "You're not Mama. You can't make me do _any_ thing."

xXx

 _Sometimes, since she was his oldest, Mary would accompany her father on late-night walks along the side of the murky river, the moon reflecting in it, so grand there had to be two of them. Mary was restless, always had been, and a night owl, so her father didn't mind letting her tag along. He was restless, too. He'd lie awake, his wife a rock next to him, and he'd kick off the sheets and wander downstairs. Mary almost always heard him. "Let's go for a drive," he'd say, and Mary would wordlessly nod and follow him to the car in nothing but her nightgown and bare feet. He'd let her sit up front, even when she was young and small. Then they'd be at the river, the trees casting a more foreboding shade at night, and they'd follow the current for a while. Mary's feet would get covered in mud, but neither of them could be bothered to care._

 _"_ _Lookit that," her father would drawl._

 _"_ _Lookit what?"_

 _"_ _That moon! She's pullin' out all the stops for ya tonight, dahlin'."_

 _"_ _Since when is the moon a girl? The moon is a rock."_

 _"_ _Aw, it ain't just a rock. Sure don't look like one right now."_

 _"_ _It's a crescent moon."_

 _"_ _Sure is. Crescent moons and Marys go hand-in-hand, ya know. It's like she knew you were gonna be here tonight."_

 _Mary was confused, so her father reached back into the recesses of his mind, recalling childhood and Bible stories about how the night the Virgin Mary conceived the son of God, a crescent moon hung in the sky. How it signified the Madonna's victory over time and space, and all her divine glory._

 _"_ _Why did she have to beat time and space?"_

 _"_ _So she can be everywhere at once at one time forever and ever, I s'pose."_

 _"_ _Why does she have to do that?"_

 _"'_ _Cuz people need her."_

 _"_ _Why do they need her?"_

 _"_ _For all sorts of reasons, sweet pea."_

 _"_ _Daddy, why did you name me Mary?"_

 _Her father stopped walking and sat up on the bank. Mary sat beside him. They stared up at the moon, divine and full of grace. "You'd have to ask your mother. She's the one who picked it."_

 _"_ _Did she pick Dally or Lisa's names?"_

 _"_ _I picked Dally's name."_

 _"_ _Oh."_

 _Her father felt a bit guilty then. Maybe he should have told her that she was named for Mother Mary, with all her divinity and grace and glory. He didn't understand why she was so hung up on this, but she was a curious kid – they all were, really – and he really shouldn't have been surprised. Questions, questions, questions. All day, every day, three-sixty-five. As ever-present as the Lady Herself._

xXx

"When did you get in last night?"

I'm busy staring in the mirror, tying my tie when she finally decides to speak. I don't turn around, instead choosing to meet her eyes with mine through the mirror. She doesn't sound mad or even upset, really. So I decide to take my chances. "What are ya, my parole officer? It wasn't barely past midnight when I got back. Just lost track of time." I tugged at my tie until it was tight enough.

"You always lose track of time," my wife sighed. She crossed the room and fixed something with my suit jacket that I hadn't known needed fixing.

"Aw, now that ain't true," I said, trying to keep this conversation from going in a bad direction. I grinned down at her. "But I don't get to see these guys hardly ever – "

"Why are you talking like that?" Bridget asked, looking at me funny. I looked funny right back at her.

"Whaddya mean? Ain't this how I always talk?"

She sighed again. "Oh, I don't know. Why don't you go check on Dallas?"

So I went and checked on Dallas. I feel a bit bad saying this, but I'm pretty sure the reason I have an easier time with him is because he's a boy, and shit, I _get_ him. He and his sisters are all pointy elbows and willowy limbs, but he's growing into a more muscular build like mine is, and if he keeps growing at the rate his feet are, he's gonna be a damn force to be reckoned with. And the kid likes baseball. Praise be to God.

"Hey, Dal."

He looks up from the syringe full of insulin in his hands and grins at me. Bridget says it's the same slow, stupid smile that I have. I guess I can see that. "Hey, old man." And he's got a mouth on him. Guess I did when I was twelve, too.

Guess I still do now.

"You need help with that?" I asked, nodding to the needle. I've never told him about how I once found Steve with one in his hands, too, right after he'd gotten back from Vietnam, for a completely different reason. And maybe I never will.

Dallas sheepishly handed it over, and I got it over with quick enough; quick enough that he barely flinched. "Do we really have to go to church?" He asked in that wheedling tone. And hell, I didn't want to go either, but it's just what ya do. It was Easter. It was just what ya had to do.

"Yes," I sighed, "we really have to go to church. None of us is lookin' forward to it, but just be a man and suck it up. It ain't forever."

Dallas looked disappointed for a moment, but then he gave me this real sly grin. "It ain't true that _none_ of us are looking forward to going."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"It _means_ that Mary wants to go cuz it means she gets to see Lee."

( _Meanwhile, in the kitchen:_

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey."

I bit my lip. This was such an awkward question. At least Lisa wasn't paying us any attention. She'd probably be bursting with stupid questions, and she's probably too young for this stuff anyways. Mom watched me with a quizzical eyebrow raised as she chased Lisa around the kitchen, trying to get her into what Lisa claimed "were the worst shoes on the _planet._ "

"Mary, sweetheart, if you could just tell me – your sister – Lisa, my goodness, _hold still_."

"Mom," I began, "how do you know if a boy likes you?"

Both Mom and Lisa stopped dead. Lisa snapped out of it first. "Ew! Why're you thinkin' about _boys?_ Boys are gross and stupid. Lookit Dally. He shoved his armpit in my face the other day when he got home from baseball, and it was _gross_. Why would you like boys after living with Dally?"

"Lisa May," Mom breathed, thrusting the shoes in my kid sister's face with a stern look. I could tell she wanted to really scold her, but all she said was, "Put these on." When Lisa opened her mouth to protest, Mom just tilted her head a bit, and Lisa got the message. But she still stuck her tongue out at her when Mom turned her back.

"So," Mom continued with a smile on her face as she smoothed out her dress, "who's the lucky guy?"

Mom was always trying to get me to talk to her about all sorts of stuff. She wasn't trying to be cool, like some of the other moms. I think she did it because she didn't have a mom growing up, so she overcompensated. Whenever she tried with Dallas, she'd just get lost in all his baseball talk. And Lisa was still a kid, so she was mostly just annoying. So Mom put all of this Big Talk stuff into me. Try to keep up with the gossip at school, what was in and what was out, which boys were cute and which weren't, and what the big scandals were. And, you know, more…personal stuff. She's the one who gave me the sex talk, not Dad. That's for sure.

"I was just asking how you would know," I said, avoiding her question. "How would you know for sure?"

Mom looked thoughtful. "Well, I don't know, it might be a lot of little things like compliments, or maybe he'll ask you a lot of questions like he's wanting to get to know you better. Or maybe he'll just come right out and say it."

"Is that how Dad did it with you?" I asked. Mom rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"Your father never does _anything_ in the typical way, so it was some sort of combination of all of that, and annoying the hell out of me."

" _Mo – o – om._ You _swore_ ," Lisa sang from her chair at the kitchen table, and Mom spun around and squinted at her. Lisa shrunk back, pouting. Again, she got the message. I bit my lip to hold back a smile, knowing we'd all heard much worse than that from both Mom _and_ Dad.

"Sweetie," Mom breathed, turning back to me, "you're a wonderful girl, and whoever this boy is that you're hung up on, he'd be lucky to find a girl like you," she grinned, and kissed my temple.)

 _"_ _Lee?"_ I repeated. "Why would she want to see him?"

Dallas looked at me like I was stupid. "…Because she _likes_ him."

xXx

 _Mary took her first steps in Tulsa, in the front lawn of one Darrel Shayne Curtis, Jr.'s house. His boy had already started walking – he_ was _a year older._

 _"_ _She's goin' places," her father told his old friend, and Darry had to agree. Nowhere but forward. No leaps backwards like her father and the rest of her family had faced. The world suddenly got a lot bigger. And when her world got bigger, so did her father's._

 _On those clear, starry starry nights on those early Tulsa visits, her mother would sit on the porch of whoever's home they were at, in a rocking chair. She had picked up the guitar in her college days, and she would sit and play and take requests. Her daughter's soundtrack was a playlist of old country standards and Dylan tunes. Folk songs. ("_ Don't Think Twice! _" someone would holler from the dewy grass, and she would oblige.)_ Where're you goin'? _, her father would ask, but not chasing after her or expecting an answer. She might briefly look at him, spare him a glance, to which he would respond by raising his eyebrows like he'd caught her coming in late after curfew and was eagerly awaiting her excuse. But then Mary would continue on her way, little steps to somewhere and nowhere at the same time._

 _"_ _Hey, do ya know that Coke jingle?"_

 _"_ _Which one?"_

 _"_ _That hilltop one. Didn't the Seekers do a cover of it?"_

 _"_ _Oh, yeah. But you want me to sing the Coke jingle?"_

 _"_ _Yeah, I like that version better anyways."_

 _Everybody knew the words to that version. They'd much rather buy each other Cokes anyways, cuz they all already had a home right here, together. Mary's father watched her closely that night. She wore white footie pajamas with little blue and yellow stars on it. She should've been tired, but wasn't. He shook his head; she was destined to have hair as crazy as her mother's someday. Little Mary gave him a gummy smile and toddled back over to him, proud to show off her new skill. She fell forward into his arms._

I still don't know if I can be a dad _, he thought._

I still don't know how to be a dad _, he thought._

I don't know if I'm ever gonna learn _, he thought._

 _"_ _Lookit that moon," he said, running a hand through her downy hair. "Came out big and beautiful tonight, just for you, kid."_

 _Mary clapped her hands. Around her, everyone was tiredly, lightly singing along to the Coke jingle._

I'm figuring this out _, he thought._

 _I'm figuring this out just like the rest of them._

xXx

The church we were going to was super old, but it wasn't without its charm. To be honest, too, I was looking forward to being there because Dad kept giving me all these weird looks in the rearview mirror on the car ride over, and when I asked him what was up, he wouldn't tell me.

( _Meanwhile, just outside the church:_

"I'll meet y'all inside," I said. "Be good for your mother."

Steve and Sodapop noticed me, and Soda waved me over. "Where're yer brothers?" I asked.

"Darry's inside," he said. He passed me his cigarette. Guess I looked like I needed it.

"Y'all. I think my daughter likes Lee," I said, fiddling with the cigarette. Eventually, I just dropped it in the grass and rubbed it out. No smoking in church. Steve looked a bit peeved that I'd done that before giving it back, but I wasn't in the mood to care.

"What makes ya think that?" Steve asked.

"Dallas told me." I felt a bit shell-shocked. "She'd never tell me herself."

"Aw, don't feel bad, man. Fran never talks to me about these things," Soda said. "Guess it's awkward to talk about guys with your old man."

Steve snorted. "Guess so. Annie never talks to me about this shit – she goes straight to Evie."

"Pony sure lucked out. Two boys," I said. "Man, Dallas is easy. Lisa's easy."

"For now," Steve cut in. "One day, she won't be."

I hated this conversation. So I decided to cut it short. "Let's head in, yeah?" I smirked, and we filed in.)

Dad came in just in time. Mom had made us save a seat for him, sticking him next to the aisle. As much as I didn't want to be here, I decided to just focus on everything else going on around me. We were sharing a pew with Uncle Pony's family, and Dad leaned over to make some stupid joke to him, and they both laughed. Lisa was sitting between Mom and Dad. Dallas was sitting next to Pony's oldest son, Johnny. They were screwing around.

This wasn't working. I needed to focus on something else besides my family.

The organist was ancient. Candles flickered, casting small spheres of light and shadow against the walls. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, every woman wearing some sort of hat. There were millions of dust mites visible in the sunlight streaming through the glass windows. The person behind me was hacking away, and I hoped whatever they had wasn't catching. The whole place smelled of incense and I wondered how Grandma Mathews could stand to come to this every Sunday. Lisa sneezed, but so quietly that I'm not sure anyone but me noticed. A few pews up and on the opposite side, Lee turned his head and caught my eye. He smiled at me. I smiled back. Lee was a year older than me – fifteen. He had the most beautiful blue eyes and when he held my hand the other day, he wrapped it all the way around mine. He was blond like his mother, but his features were sharp like his father's. I lifted a hand to give him a small wave, and he waved back. His mother noticed and nudged him. I guess Dad noticed where I was looking, too.

"Mary, don't tell me you're drooling over some boy right now," he said, low and sounding unamused. I shook my head.

"No," I lied, but he knew I was lying. He had to say that. To keep up appearances.

I knew he was onto me. I wondered if Mom had told.

We didn't go to church often, so I always forgot how long the services could seem, the way they dragged on; how my legs would fall asleep; how you'd stand up and sit down on repeat to sing, and kneel to pray. For someone who claimed to have given up on God a long time ago, Dad sure did look the part of a good Catholic man, and Mom his good Catholic wife, with their closed eyes and lips that occasionally moved. Dallas and Lisa and I would exchange funny looks of raised eyebrows and playful smirks; we were amazed at the scene before us, is all. Amazed we hadn't burned up and been sent to Hell for lying about our faith.

After the service, after they'd talked all about poor Jesus and poor Mother Mary, everybody stood up and slowly filed out of the church. As I followed my family, someone caught my arm. I took in a sharp breath and turned around.

Lee.

"Hi," I breathed.

"C'mere," he said, nodding his head. I followed him to the Sunday school room.

"What's up?" I asked. "Our parents are gonna wonder where we are."

"I know," Lee shrugged. "But we're going back to my house for lunch after this, and…well…"

"Well what?" Lee was pretty cute right now, if you ask me. He looked good dressed up, unlike me in this girly yellow dress. His tie matched what I was wearing, funnily enough. And he was getting tall, too. He looked nervous, though. "Are you okay?" I asked bluntly. "You look kinda freaked."

"I'm not!" He answered quickly. "Um. I was just sayin' that our parents and everybody would probably think it was weird if we hung out at dinner so I thought…well, I just wanted to tell ya that you looked pretty."

I felt something warm spread in my chest, and I smiled a bit, rolling up and back on my toes. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I think you're always pretty, Mary."

( _Meanwhile, out in the parking lot:_

"Where the hell are they?" I asked Bridget. She looked around.

"I don't know…"

"Bet they're still inside," Darry said, looking thoughtful. Something sank in my stomach.

"Why would you think that?" I asked, my own voice sounding funny. He bit his lip.

"C'mon," he said, and I followed Darry back inside.)

I risked taking a step closer. I don't think it was too much of a risk, though, because he _had_ said I was pretty. And if he thought I was pretty…well, I bet someone like Lee has kissed a girl before. How could he not have? "I think you're pretty, too," I said, my tone serious, but I was joking. Sorta. But Lee laughed anyways. I did, too.

"Um," he said again.

"Yeah," I breathed.

That was when it happened. One moment, we were staring each other down, and the next he'd ducked his head down a bit and had pressed his lips to mine, and I thought to myself, _Holy shit, he's kissing me!_ My first kiss was with Lee Curtis in the Sunday school room of an old church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and I found myself stepping into it, my hand reaching out to rest on his waist, and his doing the same –

 _And then the fucking door opened_.

xXx

 _Mary had no real behavioral issues. She just liked to stir up trouble. Her father supposed that he'd been a follower of the same philosophy back in the day, but you outgrow things. Things happen that make you rethink. Give you perspective. Nothing had happened to Mary to give her any perspective. Her parents had made sure of that. Preserved innocence. So she was young and wild and drove her parents up the wall. Bitched about said parents to all her friends so they knew she was cool because liking your parents just wasn't. For someone so independently minded, she sure had a penchant for fitting in. She was one person at home, and someone entirely different everywhere else, working to chameleon herself to each environment._

 _Honestly, her father found some of her antics amusing._

 _But he drew the line at her finding someone to love other than her family._

 _And as much as Lee Curtis_ was _family, he also wasn't._

xXx

"What in the _hell_ is this?!"

Our missing two had been found, and in what, in my eyes, was a pretty compromising position. For what felt like an eternity but was probably only a split second, the four of us – me, Darry, Mary, and Lee – were staring at each other, jaws dropped, eyes accusing. _Fuck_. So it was true. As soon as that particular realization hit me, I lunged forward and pulled Mary away from Lee and started making an ass of myself.

"What the hell are you doin' with my daughter?" I shouted at him.

"Uh-uh-uh, um, uh, I – I – I – uh, well, sir, I uh…"

I felt bad watching him flounder like he was, Lee was a real good kid, but this was my _daughter_. My daughter. It was _my_ daughter that he was kissing! " _Well?"_

"Dad, cut it out!" I still had Mary's arm in my hand, felt how it wrapped all the way around.

"Two-Bit, what the hell are you doin'?" Darry asked, finally stepping in and pulling Lee back towards him. "Calm down." Funny, Darrel Curtis asking _me_ to calm down and not the other way around.

"You kiddin'?" I asked. "Darry, your son was kissin' _my_ daughter in the _goddamn Sunday school room._ "

"Da – a – _ad!_ "

"Jesus Christ, Keith, be reasonable here – "

"Uncle Two-Bit, I'm sorry – "

I don't know why the fuck I was acting like this, but I dragged Mary out of that church and back to our car, where Bridget was waiting with Dallas and Lisa. Mary jerked herself out of my grasp – I hadn't meant to hold onto her that long or that tight anyway. And before I even got behind the wheel, I could hear my oldest going off about me to her mother, and didn't _that_ feel swell.

" – being _totally_ unfair! We didn't do anything!"

Bridget rested her hand on my forearm as I stared out the windshield, waiting to pull out. "Keith – "

"Bridget, I can't – "

"I'm confused, what happened?"

"Dallas!"

"I wanna know!"

"I wanna know, too!"

Their four voices competed with each other's. It was like Bridget was the conductor of the World's Worst and Most Annoying Symphony Orchestra™, and each of our children were each last chair of their own World's Worst and Most Annoying Instrument Section™. Usually, I can handle it. I can handle Mary's bitching and Dallas's prodding and Lisa's squealing and Bee's too-soft, too-timid voice attempting to tame all of it, but today it is the nerve-grating soundtrack to the never-ending, on-repeat image in my head of my daughter kissing Darry Curtis's son in the goddamn Sunday school classroom of the same church my mother had dragged me and my sister to growing up, and all of a sudden, all of it was just _too much_.

"Y'all need to shut up now, or _so help me GOD!"_ And I had fucking bellowed, too. Louder than I had meant to be, anyway, but it got the job done. I whipped around to face my kids, and I could feel my wife's eyes on me. "Mary Elizabeth Mathews, if you even _look_ at Lee Curtis ever again, you're going to wish you was never born." I turned back around and found Bridget glaring at me. Let her. "And before you say it," I said, in a tone that would _usually_ be low enough that only she could hear, "I'm not being _unreasonable._ It was in a fucking _church_." So I guess I was trying to say it was disrespectful, but I had no idea why I would care.

"You can be a real asshole when you want to be, you know that?" Bridget asked me later, once we were at Darry's. After she'd been in the kitchen with all the other guys' wives.

I bit my lip. "Honey…"

"Don't _honey_ me," she shot back. "You'll be lucky if Mary doesn't…if she doesn't…well, I don't know, but I know that whatever that hell that was in the car over her and Lee, it was _reprehensible_. You don't do something like that to a girl her age!"

Her eyes are an absolutely _evil_ shade of green, and I have to acknowledge that my wife looks beautiful this afternoon because she does, even if she's pissing me off. Something about Easter really gets her to doll up. Maybe because it's the one time a year we go to church. She's sitting rod-straight at Darry's dining room table, twisting a handkerchief between gloved hands. Probably to keep herself from tugging on her hair, which she still does even after all these years. Nervous habit.

"And why not?" I asked. Bridget sighed.

" _Because_. It's a sensitive topic. I hardly talked to my father about boys – "

"Oh, believe me, I know. He was sure surprised when you brought _me_ home!" And glory, was he. Hell, I think he's _still_ surprised.

Bridget scowled. If looks could kill… "Don't. Don't you _dare_. Girls…girls just don't talk to their fathers about boys. That's what mothers are good for."

I snorted. "Yeah? Like you would know, you never had one 'til you were seventeen."

I instantly regretted saying that. Her face fell and I could tell she was gearing up to start crying, but she looked down and started twisting her handkerchief even tighter, and an awkward silence fell between us. "Honey…"

"Save it," she said, monotone.

We were still staring each other down when Jackie called everyone in to eat.

xXx

 _When Mary was a baby, the trips to Tulsa were much more frequent than they would become in later years, though they still occurred. But when she was a baby, they routinely visited, multiple times a year. Her parents were still young, and still had the mindset of young people. During the day, they were hers, completely at her disposal. There weren't as many children in the group back then. She had chubby fingers and toes. Chubby arms and legs. Cheeks that asked to be kissed and a face that asked to be cooed at by every adult she came across. Little black curls. She looked nothing like her father and everything like her mother. Not the first baby, but the first daughter._

 _"_ _Everybody could just eat you up," her father would tell her in a ridiculous voice. She was the tiniest thing compared to these cowboys._

 _His wife remarked how funny he looked, in all his Okie glory, compared to the soft pinkness of their daughter. How when they came down here, he'd go out and try to recapture his glory days, before he was a husband and father and business owner. How he'd go out with his buddies – Darry and Steve and Sodapop and Ponyboy – and stroll along the streets of Tulsa, weaving in and out of bars and roadhouses, trying to find what they had misplaced. How they'd relive their childhoods by telling all the stories they all already knew. How they all became more lewd when they were together. How the cowboy in him came out. And then he'd come home and become a new, different person almost. Because out there, he was Two-Bit Mathews. At home, he was Mary's father._

 _"_ _You think too much," he told her distractedly, busy making faces at Mary and letting her pepper him with powdery kisses._

 _"_ _Maybe you don't think enough," she shot back, but he was too preoccupied with his Best Girl to notice her. Her voice had been too soft for him to really hear her, anyway._

xXx

The whole family feels it when Mom is mad. Maybe not our extended family, all of whom were jabbering away as all of us – and when I say all of us, I _mean_ all of us, all five families – came into the house. It's a miracle we found enough chairs to get all of us to fit around that dining room table. Unfortunately, I ended up right across from Dad, who wouldn't even look at me. Mom didn't look happy to be sitting next to Dad, but Dallas was perfectly happy at his end of the table where he and all the other boys his age (and Uncle Soda and Uncle Steve) were sitting.

I didn't understand my father. Almost never. One moment, he was screwing around and could barely keep a straight face, and the next he was getting upset over me kissing a boy. Figures. Fucking _figures._

Gosh, I really hope Dad can't read minds like he says he can, because if so, he's gonna get me for all this swearing.

( _Meanwhile, back in 1966:_

"Happy Easter, assholes!"

Darry's day has only just begun, and he's already done with my bullshit. "Shouldn't you be at church or somethin'?"

I gestured to my tie, and, well, the rest of my apparel. "Already been. Mom's church gets ya in and out. Don't you know what time it is? Anyways, thought I'd come over and say 'hey' to the Howdy-Doody gang." Which consisted of the rest of 'em, Steve and Soda and Pony. Why the fuck is Ponyboy always walking around in his underwear? Good God.

"Mothers and fuckers of the jury," Steve began grandly, "may I present to y'all Tulsa's number one _dumbass_ – "

"Ya better watch your mouth on this holiest of days, Steven," Soda crowed, his voice a high-pitched falsetto, "or you'll be sent straight to _Hell,_ " his voice dropping dramatically on _Hell._

"Jewish people don't believe in Hell," Pony said, as if he thought he could actually add to the conversation.

"Oh, where'd ya learn that, Ponyboy? Sunday school?" Steve asked, voice fake sweet. "Ya say that like I actually give a rat's ass."

Well, that riled the two of them up. _Perfect_. Chaos created, I strode right through all of them to get to the kitchen and grab a beer. Because all that fake giving-stuff-up-for-Lent crap was all just show for my mother. And what I wouldn't give, in this moment, to be in that moment.)

"Al _right_." Aunt Jackie sat at the opposite end of the table from Uncle Darry, and Lee was sitting right next to his father. What a disappointment. I wouldn't be able to speak to him without having to shout across the table. "Darrel, honey, why don't you say grace?"

Oh, but Uncle Darry's a tricky one. "Mm, why don't you, babe. You do it so _nice_." Oh my _god_ , I hate my family.

"Well, alright," Jackie said, looking pleased.

Saying grace was a rare thing in my family. I don't know about the families of the rest of Dad's buddies, whether they did it nightly, with the holding hands and the bowed heads and the closed eyes and the kumbahya of it all. But I grabbed Annette's hand and I grabbed Martha's hand; my father took my mother's and my sister's; they all bowed their heads. Except for him and I. We were sitting right across from each other. He and I, we locked eyes as Jackie began, her sweet Southern drawl with a touch of the Cajun Bayou in it.

"Lord, as we gather together as family and friends we invite you once again into our lives." (His eyes locked with mine, mine with his; tunnel vision.) "May the hope of your resurrection color our days." (My mother and I had the same eyes – both much too green. Right now, my father's were the same grey, with an odd spark in them.) "May the promise of your spirit working in us light up our lives. May the love you revealed to us shape our giving." (I remember when he gave Aunt Sadie away at her wedding. I remember how he didn't even cry.) "May the truth in your word guide our journeys, and may the joy of your kingdom fill our homes." (I wondered, then, why it was so _easy_ for him to do that, but the second he sees me with a boy, I'm the Whore of Babylon.) "As we gather together underneath the banner of your life, we thank you for all the wonderful food that we can now enjoy, and celebrate your _glorious_ resurrection. Thank you Lord. Amen."

I felt Annette and Martha squeeze my hands. I could see my father squeeze Mom and Lisa's. Mom glanced at him, though he didn't look at her, and I could see in her eyes that just him squeezing her hand was enough for her to forgive him for the shit he'd pulled in the car. I wondered how it was so easy for her to do that, to forgive him so quickly, and for something that small to be the reason. I think he saw the confusion in my eyes as we all chorused,

"Amen."

xXx

 _At least one pilgrimage to Tulsa each year was a given. At some point, certain points, their father would get off the phone with somebody – Darry or Sodapop or Steve or somebody – and let the rest of the family know that they were going to be flying down (or, on some memorable occasions, driving down) to see the family. And the family is big. And the visits were always long. They usually spent the duration at their mother's parents' home, but they'd spend their days with everyone else, usually well into the evening past bedtime. Their parents just usually couldn't be bothered to be torn away, which was funny, considering their mother usually resisted going down there._

 _Oklahoma was dusty and scorched plains, plagued with storms that brought little more than heat lightning and the occasional burst of rain, but then everyone would get blindsided by a torrential downpour of biblical proportions. Twisters were more a threat in the spring. Easter of 1989, however, brought sunshine and pleasant weather, perfect for Easter egg hunting and the sexual awakening of pubescent dumbass children._

xXx

"What're you doin' out here?"

Mary whipped her head around, looking surprised like she'd, well, like she'd been caught playing tonsil hockey with a boy on the back porch. She looked almost guilty, though she had no reason to be. She was just sitting back here, staring out at the sky. I sighed and stood next to her while she sat up on the porch railing.

"Nothin'," she whispered. "What're _you_ doing out here?"

I tried not to laugh. "Don't you play that game with me," I said gently. "You'll lose."

"I know."

 _Fuck_ , she looked miserable. And it was all my fucking fault. "Ain't you cold? Jesus, Mary, if you was gonna sit out here and wax philosophical to yourself, the least you coulda done was wear a jacket so you don't catch your death."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Well, alright," I sighed. "Mary."

"Yeah?" Her voice cracked just a little.

"I haven't exactly been scorned in love," I said, trying to keep my tone gentle, "but I need you to understand that I know all too well what it's like to not be loved by someone who's s'posed to."

Mary cast her eyes down and focused intently on her fingernails. "You mean your dad," she said.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Him. That motherfucker." Mary laughed a little. Bingo. "I'm just trying to look out for you. Ya know? I don't wanna see your heart get broke, Mary dahlin'. It would hurt me just as bad as it hurts you. And then everything would be awkward as hell because we see these people all the damn time."

She laughed again, but I knew she was starting to cry. Mary wasn't as tough as she wanted people to think. "Guess you were lucky," she whispered. "With Mom."

I nodded vehemently. "Oh, hell yeah, honey. I'm the luckiest sonuvabitch alive." I pursed my lips. Sometimes it hits me just how true that is. "He's just one boy, baby. One outta far too many. We can't stop y'all from tryin', which pisses me and Darry off to no end, but I can be honest with ya."

( _Meanwhile, across Tulsa:_

"You kissed her in the _goddamn Sunday school room_."

Lee resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I know I did, sir." _I was there!_

Darrel crossed his arms over his chest. With everyone cleared out of the house, here he was, standing over him while he sat at the kitchen table. He knows his son had kissed other girls before – hell, maybe even more than _that_ , though he certainly hoped not yet – but this one felt different. This one felt very different. Darry could almost see where Two-Bit was coming from. What would he have done if he'd seen Dallas Mathews puckered up with Martha? Sure, the whole _caught-them-in-the-act_ thing had only been kissing – not like they'd been fucking in the supply closet – but something about it still didn't feel quite right.

"She lives all the way in New York," Darry said gently. "You'll never see her."

Lee looked down at his lap. "I know that, sir." And he sounded sorta miserable about it all.)

We didn't say anything for a while. I guess she did get one thing from me – that night owl trait. Ask anybody, they'll tell you I was a helluva lot more fun after the sun had gone down. Now, though, it ain't so much that I'm more fun, it's that I'm more awake. There's just so much to think about that I never bothered to think about before.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah."

"If you were Joseph, and you'd just found out that God had forced your wife to have the baby version of Himself incarnate, wouldn't you be sorta pissed off?"

I laughed in surprise. "What the hell sorta question is that?"

"Well, wouldn't you be? And if you were her father, what would you think? Is it really a miracle? Wasn't it wrong for God to force her into that?"

I kinda hemmed and hawed. "It's God's will," I tried. "I mean, I'm not sayin' I'm exactly a fan of the big man, but what was any of them s'posed to do? Kinda hard to go against God."

Then I thought about it. And if that were _my_ Mary, I'd take on God Himself. We don't ask for the things that happen to us, or at least, we rarely do. Sometimes we're askin' _for_ it. But why should Mother Mary have been forced to go through what she'd gone through, then be expected to exist everywhere all at once for all time in all spaces? How is something like that _okay?_ Damn Mary Mathews for making me think like this!

"Why do you ask?" She shrugged. "That ain't even a crescent moon, ya know. And those kinds of moons are Mary's. Not a, uh – "

"Waxing gibbous."

"Not that."

"I was just wondering. Because, well, in church this morning, they talked all about what a miracle it was that Jesus came back from the dead, and I started thinking about Mary – his mom – and, like, if I were her, I think I'd be kinda pissed off. Because she'd already held his dead body, they'd already put him in the tomb, and then…then he's _back?_ I feel like God really jerked her around."

"God's a dick," I said simply. "He did jerk her around. Ain't nothin' out there, nobody's life, that's entirely fair. We all get fucked over at one point or another." I really needed to stop swearing in front of them, but by the way Mary was biting her lip, she seemed to think it was funny more than anything else. I knew she wouldn't tell.

"Yeah, I guess," she whispered. "Like…like right now. Nothing feels fair."

"I know," I whispered back. I knew exactly what she was talking about. "Sucky feeling, huh?"

"Yeah." Her voice cracked again. "We didn't mean for it to happen. Because…because he's always gonna be down here, and we're…we're always gonna be out there. But we couldn't help it."

( _Meanwhile, about…a few hours ago:_

"So."

"So."

We were about to leave. I probably wouldn't see Lee again until the summer at least, and if our dads were this upset about what we'd done in the church this morning, maybe longer.

"I'm sorry about my dad," I said shyly.

"Don't worry about it. He's just…he's just lookin' out for you, I suppose."

"I wish he wouldn't. Not on stuff like this. Don't make me regret kissing you, Lee."

"I wouldn't," he said quickly. "Cuz I sure don't regret it.")

"I get it," I whispered. "I do. And I'm sorry, Mary. I am. I…I'm sorry, I really am. I was a fuckin' jerk."

"Why're you saying all this?" She asked. "I get it, you're sorry. But that doesn't mean that you think…it doesn't mean you're okay with what happened. And I still don't get _why_."

"I can't say I get it one-hundred percent, either," I said honestly. "But what I do know is that the long distance thing is hard, and that you're fourteen years old and I don't like the idea of you gettin' hung up over a boy that lives so far away when I can't afford to let you just fly down at a moment's notice and see 'im all the time, 'specially when you're young and your… _feelings_ change all the time – "

"You and Mom were young," she protested. "I know you were. You were in high school."

"You're in _eighth grade_. And you think him bein' a freshman makes him that much more mature? Y'all ain't ready for this shit, Mary dahlin', I _know_ you ain't."

She didn't say anything, just let big fat tears roll down her cheeks. Lordy, did she and her mother cry all the time. "Ya know," I continued in a whisper, "when you was born, I tried to get your Mom to call you Lizzy."

Mary looked interested. "Yeah?" She asked, hiccupping and wiping off her face with the palm of her hand. Her nose was kinda running, but I didn't have the heart at the moment to tell her.

"Yeah," I shrugged, like it was no big deal. "See, when I was younger and stupider, I thought Mary was a stupid, stuck-up name. And I walk into that hospital – and I'm in a good mood, cuz I just became a dad and all, so I thought I was the shit, like I was the first guy to ever get a woman pregnant – and your mother tells me your name is Mary Elizabeth, had already made it legal and everything. And I says to her, babe, ya know, Mary's kinda a prissy name."

"Is _not_."

"Well, hang on! So I tried to get her to call you by all these other stupid nicknames, like Lizzy and shit, and she kept on telling me no, your name is Mary."

"Dad, I don't see where you're going with this…"

I held up a hand. She stopped. "When you were little," I began again, "you used to ask me if you were named after the Virgin Mary. _All_ the time. Your mama picked that name for you, and I picked Dally's, and she and I, we picked Lisa's. Now with Dallas – "

"I know," Mary interrupted. "He's named after Dallas Winston."

I could tell my expression darkened. "Don't…don't tell 'im."

"I won't."

"Good. And with Lisa, we just sorta picked somethin' we liked. But I don't know where your mom got your name. She didn't even know any Marys. And I can't say I had some ' _intimate faith-based relationship'_ with the Madonna, but baby…shit, you don't gotta be named after _any_ body. Once your mother got it through my thick skull that you were a Mary and not anything else, it clicked. You're my baby, baby. And you're a helluva kid, but lately, it seems you've been tryin' to run away from me."

Crickets – they had already popped up in the Great State of Oklahoma. "I'm not running away from you, Dad. I don't think you'd let me."

I chuckled. "For now. But one day, you're gonna leave me, kid."

"…not today."

I smirked. Yeah – not today. "Right. So – you wanna go for a drive?"

XXXXX

 **AN:** ** _Whew_** **. That was a bit of a doozy. But it was a fun write!**

 **Lulu – I think I wrote this largely for you and me ;)**

 **Happy Easter, y'all, and thanks for reading!**


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